


Bridges

by CallMeSiobhan



Category: Internet Personalities, Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Healing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, suicide note
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2018-12-04 18:28:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11560884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallMeSiobhan/pseuds/CallMeSiobhan
Summary: When Mark visits Jack as a birthday surprise, he is shocked to find his friend on the verge of suicide and does everything he can to help him recover...However, after sharing such personal experiences, is it really possible for the two to remain "just friends"?"Am I really going to do this?Thought Jack.Am I really going to do this?Thought Mark.Together, they leaned in closer, closing the space between them inch by inch…Until their lips met."





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is my first work on this site so constructive criticism and corrections are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thanks,  
> Siobhan (pronounced "shiv-awn" for those of you who don't know)

The sound of rushing water echoed below the bridge. It was so distant, yet it was all he could hear. The merciful roar acted as a barrier, drowning out his thoughts. The emotions, however -the crippling emotions- still remained. Nothing, not even the loudest roar of the most violent of waterfalls, could ease the pain he felt. Even now, balanced precariously on the edge of death, he felt no fear. Only pain.

The sun would surely be rising soon if he didn't do it quickly, and dawn would bring cars and people who would try and stop him. He didn't want to be stopped. His numb legs trembled, maybe from standing for so long, maybe from cold, or maybe even fear. Nonetheless, he didn't notice.

_Enough stalling; it's time. It's time to end everything. I can't... I don't need to suffer anymore._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory disclaimer:  
> This is a work of fiction and is in no way reflective of Jack or Mark in real life. They are both individuals with their own lives (as are their girlfriends) so please be respectful. Truth be told, I initially imagined this story with my own fictional characters but the story requires two people of the same gender (as you will see by the end) and basing my characters off real people is far easier than creating OCs, hence why I adapted the story for Jack and Mark (two of my favourite YouTubers). This is a fictional universe which has a lot of differences to real life, so don't treat it as if it is such.
> 
> Anyway I don't plan to bombard you with notes in future chapters so I'll just get it all out of the way now. I have a few chapters written and the entire thing planned but I'm a perfectionist so my plan of uploading a chapter per week may not work out. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy my amateur writing.  
> PS: Don't worry- the other chapters will be a lot longer; this is just a prologue.


	2. The Letter

Having arrived in Brighton to surprise Jack for his birthday, Mark was worried when he found Jack's apartment unlocked, with the keys in the door. It was the middle of the night; Jack should have been asleep. "Jack..." he called softly. "Jack?"A bit louder. No response.

Deserting his bags at the door, Mark checked the living room: Nothing.

He checked the kitchen: Nothing.

The bathroom: Nothing.

Corridors: Nothing.

 _Don't panic, Mark,_ he reassured himself, _Jack's a grown man. He'll be fine; this is just you overthinking things..._

Finally finding the bedroom, Mark didn't even need to turn on the light to see that there was nobody in the bed, and the recording setup and shelves lined with gifts and merchandise confirmed that this was indeed Jack's apartment and Jack was indeed missing. Regretting never asking for Jack's contact details aside from on Skype, Mark reached for his phone, but found it to be dead anyway after the hours and hours of travel.

_Shit._

Becoming increasingly anxious, Mark hurried out of the apartment to search for Jack, his mind racing to think of a logical reason behind his disappearance. In his haste, however, he didn't see the note which would have explained everything.

Propped up on Jack's pillow was a letter- _the_ letter; it was carefully worded and neatly presented, but tear stains peppered the paper and smudged the ink. These words, these venomous words, were of a desperate, broken man who hated himself and the impact he had on those around him, who made the grave error of believing that the world would be better off without him.

* * *

 Jack stared into black abyss below, wondering how many others' tears had fallen into this river in its lifespan. His tears, disguised against the rain which was beginning to fall from the gargantuan storm clouds above, seemed so small in comparison to the roaring leviathan beneath him. His problems, however, were still as large and painful as ever, and as unforgiving as the jagged rocks disguised stealthily below the surface of the rushing water. He imagined his head cracking open on those rocks. There would be a moment of pain, then it would all be over. Simple.

A sudden bright light and the blaring of a horn, followed by a gust of wind, threw Jack off balance but his instincts caused his arms to clench around the railing behind him, stopping him from falling off the thin ledge of concrete he was standing on. Letting out a shaky breath, his gaze followed the back of the speeding truck (obviously in too much of a rush to 'help' in any other way than blaring its horn) which had just crossed the bridge before refocusing his attention onto the almost hypnotic flow of the river below him, loosening his cramping arms.

For a brief moment, he wondered if his arms and back would bruise where they had been pressed against the cold metal railing. Then he realised it wouldn't matter.

Bruises cannot bother a dead man.

He wasn't sure what he would have done if the truck had stopped. The driver probably would have convinced him to step down- convinced him not to jump. Part of Jack wished the truck had stopped, but Jack refused to even acknowledge that flicker of hope and self-preservation. Besides, there was no going back now, right?

His heart beating out of his chest, Jack didn't even hear the frantic calls and stampeding footsteps coming ever closer.

 _I should have just gone with the wind. Wow. I'm even a failure at ending my own life. How pathetic._ Jack thought, grimacing. Finally giving way to the flood of emotions he had been attempting to hold in for so long, Jack covered his face with his hands, unhooking his shaking arms from the railing. A muffled sob escaped from behind them, and his legs began to weaken underneath him...

* * *

 Mark had been searching for Jack for over ten minutes before he reached the bridge. Stumbling once again in the darkness, he chastised himself for not bringing a torch. A truck horn blared, alerting Mark, who was momentarily blinded by the glare of a truck's headlights, to a wobbling silhouette standing on the bridge, on the wrong side of the railing... _Fuck. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck._

"HEY!" he yelled, heartbeat ringing in his ears. At first, Mark couldn't tell who the figure was, but it only took a moment for his eyes to adjust and spot the shock of neon green hair through the pouring rain.

_No. That can't be Jack. It could just be a hat. It might just be someone else with green hair. It... It..._

His legs began sprinting before his brain had even consciously decided what to do. Any moment now he could fall. Any moment now he could jump.

His legs were carrying him faster than he ever thought possible, but the stretch between himself and the green-haired jumper seemed far too long. He called out again, more softly than his original shout; he didn't want to startle him and send him falling over the edge. The figure seemed to have regained its balance for now, but Mark kept on sprinting, fearing the worst.

The following few seconds felt like a lifetime. There was now no doubt that the figure's hair was green, but only the top. Even through the rain, falling in sheets, Mark could recognise the distinctive style. Who else had that hair but...? Mark couldn't even bring himself to finish the thought, its dark implications looming over him like the billowing storm clouds above. The figure covered its face with its hands and began shaking violently. Mark kept on sprinting. Its legs began to buckle involuntarily underneath it, and there was no telling when it would fall. Mark was sprinting even faster, legs and arms pumping like pistons, eyes blurry with tears. Or was it rain? Just as the figure began to fall, Mark skidded to a halt and wrapped his arms under its armpits, hauling it over the railing to safety.

Collapsed on the ground with the man in his arms, Mark looked down to see a shaking, sobbing Jack clutching onto him. He opened his bloodshot eyes and stared into Mark's for a few seconds, disbelief plastered on his pale face.

"Mark?" was the only thing he could manage to say before passing out in his friend's arms.

"I'm here, Jack. I'm always here." Mark replied as he held his friend close in his arms, mind still racing.


	3. Consequences

Jack awoke to find himself in his bed, fully clothed and... wet? The mists of sleep clouded his memory momentarily, but before long the events of earlier that morning began to sink in. _No. That didn't happen, did it? I was on the bridge and I was about to... but Mar...  Mark..._ Jack's pillow was wet with tears, but he didn't remember having any nightmares. _Maybe that was all one big nightmare?_

The sound of footsteps startled Jack into full consciousness. He patted the bed around him, searching for something. _The letter. Oh shit, the letter._

Jack stumbled out of bed. His alarm read 4:42am. Tired, guilt ridden, and scared of the conversation to come, he forced his legs to carry him into the living room. Mark was on the sofa, staring morosely at a piece of paper, _the_ piece of paper, eyes filled with tears. Jack began to speak but was interrupted, which was fitting considering he didn't even know what he was going to say anyway. How could he begin to explain this?

"Mark I-"

"After everything that has happened, Jack. After _everything_ that has happened, you still think this was the right option?" Mark snapped, wiping his eyes with one hand and waving the note, which seemed to have accumulated even more tear stains, with the other.

Jack took another step closer, sensing the hurt in his friend's voice. "I'm sorry, Mark. I'm so, so sorry. I just-"

"No, no" Mark sighed, his tone less angry this time "you don't have to apologise. I'm just..." he paused for a moment before turning to look Jack in the eyes "come on over here, you big goof" he joked, with arms outstretched and a small, forced smile on his face, trying to hide the pain in his bloodshot eyes.

Jack needed no further persuasion, swiftly folding his arms around his friend. There was no noise aside from both men's shaking breaths. Jack felt an overwhelming sense of safety with Mark holding him and all of the pent-up emotions he had been holding in over the past few months came gushing out in a flood of tears once again. _God, I must look so stupid!_ Jack thought until Mark, for reasons unbeknownst to Jack, began crying too, hugging his friend closer.

After they had both recovered, Jack and Mark finally let go of each other. Jack stared into his friend's deep brown eyes for a moment, only now realising how beautiful a colour they were.

* * *

 "You should really get some sleep" Mark murmured after he and Jack had let go of each other, reluctant to meet his eyes. He was unsure of why he had cried. Maybe it was because he didn't like seeing his friend upset. Maybe they were tears of relief at the fact that his friend had been so close to death but was here now, safe in his arms.

"I don't think I'll be able to" Jack replied.

"Me neither." A silence fell between the two until Mark interjected. "Do you have a lighter?"

"You smoke?" Jack questioned.

"No, of course not- look, do you have matches? Anything?"

"Well yeah, but what for?"

"There's something we-" he paused and tried again, considering his words more carefully this time "There's something _you_ need to do." Mark stood up, picked up the letter, and silently began walking to the kitchen, gesturing at Jack to follow him.

"What is this 'thing' I'm supposed to be doing?" Jack inquired, tired and confused.

"Come over here" Mark commanded, his gaze serious but comforting. Jack did as was requested, retrieving a small box of matches from a drawer by his oven, and looked at Mark for further instruction.

"Now light it on fire" he said, nodding his head at the letter in his hand, still held over the sink.

"Oh..." Jack mumbled, realising. After a moment's hesitation, he struck the match and held the flame under a corner of the tear-stained paper. The golden tongues of fire climbed the letter, engulfing the poisonous words. Mark dropped the flaming letter in the sink and, after swiftly opening a window and disabling the kitchen's fire alarm, stood by Jack's side at the counter.

Mark stared at his friend who was watching the paper become engulfed by flames. He hoped this helped. The fact that one of his best friends could be dead at the bottom of a river right now made Mark suddenly glad that his flight was delayed at the last minute. He couldn't bear to imagine what it would have been like if he had arrived as planned and found Jack's suicide note the following day. That it was the day of Jack's birthday made it even worse. _Why today? Why at all? Why hadn't he just spoken to someone- spoken to me?_ He could feel tears welling up in his eyes again.

Mark's thoughts were interrupted by Jack wafting away the smoke and turning on the tap to disintegrate and wash away the charred remains of the note. "Feel better?"

"Yeah. Thank you, Mark... For everything." answered Jack, still staring into the emptied sink as if the words were going to leap back out of the plug hole at him.

"It's what I'm here for." Came the reply. Jack smiled shyly in response, finally meeting Mark's gaze. Fresh tears were welling up in his eyes.

"Anyway, I think we both need to get some sleep, now that that's out of the way. I'll sleep on the couch and you-"

"Actually," Jack interrupted, a little too abruptly, "I was wondering if you would share a bed with me?" Mark gave a quizzical look "O-or at least just sleep in the room or something, I mean. Not in a weird way or anything... just so... just so I can feel... safe. I think I just need company right now." Mark could see Jack's face reddening by the second.

"Okay Jack, but if the septiplier shippers find out about this, _you're_ the one who'll be explaining it to them!" He joked with mock sincerity, breaking any awkwardness which had arisen as a result of Jack's request.

"Alright then, Markimoo!" chuckled Jack as he headed to the bedroom he may have never used again, relief filling Mark's chest as he saw his friend laugh. Mark dug some pyjamas out of his hastily packed bag and clumsily changed into them in the living room, before following Jack to the room which had caused him so much panic only a few hours ago, too tired to bother setting up a makeshift bed on the floor.

* * *

 Burning his letter had made Jack feel so much better. It was as if all his troubles and pent up emotions were disintegrating along with the paper, at least momentarily. The thoughts would surely return soon. At that moment, however, his mind was the clearest it had been in months, but one question still plagued his mind: Why was Mark here in the first place? Jack originally planned on leaving that question until after they had both rested, as he knew his friend must have had severe jet-lag, but he couldn't stop thinking about it.

Mark and Jack were sleeping with their backs to each other and Jack initially didn't want to make things even more awkward by talking to Mark whilst they were in the same bed, but curiosity got the better of him and he asked anyway.

"Err Mark, I know you're tired and all, but you never actually told me why you were here in the first place." He whispered, turning to face his friend's back. Mark rolled over wearily so they were face to face.

"Oh yeah," he said "I guess I forgot in all the... panic... and everything." Jack could tell Mark was half asleep; his words were slurred and his eyes were half shut. "I was going to surprise you here on your birthday, since I didn't want you to be alone after your breakup and everything." He yawned wearily "I was supposed to arrive at my hotel yesterday so I could get over the jet lag and all that, but my flight was delayed a _lot_ so I ended up getting here around 3 am. The hotel wouldn't take me in that late so, as a last resort, I came to yours. Then I saw that the door was unlocked and you'd left your phone, wallet, and keys so I was worried and went out looking for you, and... Well you know what happened from then on..."

"Wow... Thank you, I guess. That was such a nice thing to do... Oh God but what if you'd arrived on time to surprise me and I'd already..." Jack could feel himself tearing up again, panic rising in his chest "Oh God I'm so sorry Mark. I'm so, so s-"

"Shhh it's fine, Jack. There's no need to apologise." Jack felt a warm hand on his shoulder "You're here now and you're safe, and that's all that matters. Now go to sleep, you goofy goober." Mark interrupted, clearly extremely tired but still smiling. Jack wondered if his friend would even remember this conversation in the morning.

"Okay..." Jack whispered, wiping his eyes "Night, ya goofy goober" and, questions finally answered, he closed his eyes and let the blanket of sleep envelop him. For the first time in months, he had no nightmares that night.


	4. The Birthday which Almost Didn't Happen

Mark awoke to the sound of a running shower. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and was momentarily confused to find that he was not in his own room, before remembering what had happened. _Oh God I stink!_ Mark thought when he stretched and caught a whiff of his armpits. _I'm going to need to use the shower after Jack… Wait, it’s still Jack’s birthday today! I need to do something special for him…_

After dragging himself out of bed, Mark checked the alarm on Jack’s bedside table: 1:26pm. Even after almost 8 hours of sleep (not even including all the time he spent sleeping on the plane), he was still tired but was nevertheless determined to make the most out of what was left of Jack’s birthday.

Mark headed straight for his bags, which he’d left in the living room, and rummaged through them to find Jack’s gift. He also discovered some party poppers which he’d packed at the last minute, and a sly grin spread across his face.

After finding his towel and some fresh clothes to wear in preparation for after his shower, all Mark could do was wait, party poppers in hand. Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long, and he listened to the shower turning off, then to the bolt unlocking, and then to the handle turning…

**BANG!**

“Happy birthday!”

“Jesus Christ!” Jack’s wet body was showered with confetti, which stuck to him like glue. In his shock, the hand that Jack was using to hold up his towel let go, leaving him completely naked, covered in confetti, and extremely embarrassed. One hand instantly flew to cover his crotch, the other fumbling to pick up the towel from around his ankles.

“Oh God! Well happy birthday, and all that, but do you really need to show me your _birthday suit_? I can hear the fangirls screaming already!” Mark was in fits of laughter on the floor, eyes screwed shut to allow Jack to cover up.

“MARK!” Jack yelled, towel already back around his waist, both hands gripping it now.

“Ah it burns! It burns my eyes!” Mark yelled jokingly, still laughing uncontrollably. Jack tried to keep a straight face but was soon overcome with laughter.

“I…” he said in gasps “am going… to kill you, Mark Fischbach! Right… right after I get changed…” still laughing, Jack briskly departed to his room, making a show of slamming the door behind him in mock anger.

* * *

 Jack was still picking bits of confetti out of his hair when Mark finished his shower. He still couldn’t believe Mark had just seen his… privates… If the Septiplier shippers found out, they would go crazy! In fact, if they found out about anything that had happened recently, they would probably all die of simultaneous heart attacks.

Everything that Mark had done for Jack made him almost forget what had happened. Almost. In fact, Mark just being around him had a significant calming effect. Or maybe it was just the presence of another person he could talk to? Cameras are not very good at making conversation, after all. For the first time in months, life didn’t seem so torturous.

Jack’s growling stomach reminded him that he couldn’t remember the last time he ate; apparently being around a familiar face brings back one’s appetite.

“Want any breakfast?” Jack called.

“It’s too late for breakfast!” Came the response.

“Brunch then?”

“Too late for brunch! It’s gotta be, what, two pm now?”

“Good point…” Jack laughed, strolling into the living room, trying to look dignified despite the previous fiasco “but I’m starving so we need to eat something!”

Whilst fumbling through his cupboards, looking for a suitable 2pm food, Jack heard Mark approach him from behind, his voice low and serious.

“You know, if you need to talk, I'm always here. I understand if you don’t want to but I, err, I just thought I’d let you know.”

“I… Thanks… I appreciate that. I just want to forget it ever happened, I guess.”

“I understand…”Jack could feel Mark’s eyes burning into the back of his head, but he didn’t want to meet them. He didn’t want to look into those eyes. If he did, he would surely break down in tears… again. “So what’s for break… brun… ah you know what I mean” Mark inquired, lightening the mood.

“Well,” Jack replied, composing himself, “I have a shite tonne of cereal.”

“Got any Lucky Charms?” Mark joked in his hilariously terrible attempt at an Irish accent.

“You know we don’t have those here, you idiot!” Jack attempted to supress the smirk he felt spreading across his face. He wasn’t going to give Mark the satisfaction of a smile after that butchering of his accent. “All I have is cheerios, coco pops, and about five boxes of shitty, probably-out-of-date, off-brand stuff.”

“Well let’s go out then. My treat.”

“No Mark I couldn’t- you've done enough already and I-”

“Oh shut up, Jack!” Mark interrupted “It’s the least I can do! Besides, you need to get out and do shit to take your mind off all this stuff”

“Eloquent as always, Mark.” Jack teased “Well if we do go out, mind if we go shopping on the way back from… wherever we’re going? My fridge is a bit… barren, to say the least” he opened the fridge, revealing some old vegetables (probably mouldy) in the bottom drawer, various half-eaten containers of takeaway food, a crumpled carton of orange juice, and a solitary egg, the last in a box of twelve. “But before you say ANYTHING, Mark Fischbach, you are not paying for a penny of it! I’m not a gold-digging girlfriend!”

“Ooh Jacksepticeye being my girlfriend? I wouldn’t mind that!” Mark joked, his fake flirt accentuated by the fluttering of his eyelashes.

“Shut up, Mark!” Jack retorted, laughing. “You know what I mean!” Mark’s deep laugh was rumbling around the room, “Look, I know a good place where we can get coffee that’s only a short walk from here”

“Before we go,” Mark began, glancing over at his bag for reasons unknown to Jack.

“Yeah?” Jack replied, eager to get out of the house he’d trapped himself in for months.

“Nah, never mind. I’ll do it later. I am in dire need of some caffeine right now!” And with that, the two stepped out into the surprisingly bright day, the petrichor and faint harmonious polyphony of a chorus of songbirds reminding Jack that life wasn’t so bad after all.

* * *

 “It’s a fucking beautiful day.” Jack stated bluntly, gazing at the unremarkable Brighton sky.

“I guess so,” Mark replied, “maybe not warranting an f-bomb but still nice.” Compared to LA, Brighton was cold and dull so Jack’s enthusiasm confused him.

“You know when you feel so strongly about something that normal words just won’t cut it and you have to swear to get the point across?” Jack returned, “Yeah, it’s a fucking beautiful day.”

It was then that Mark realised this was probably the first time Jack had been outside in weeks, possibly longer. He remembered the note, and the faint red stains he saw on the sink in Jack’s bathroom that morning. _Please let those be wine stains_ , he had thought, but he didn’t make a convincing argument. When he looked up at the sky again and thought about the fact that if his plane was a few minutes later Jack may not be looking up at the sky with him now, it didn’t look dull any more. It looked truly fucking beautiful.

Mark thought about Jack’s present, still hidden in his bag. He had considered giving it to Jack before they left but something inside him told him to leave it until later. They were only going out to get coffee, after all; it could wait. After everything that had happened, the gift seemed laughably insignificant –like putting a plaster on a gaping wound, if you will-, but it would hopefully be a nice surprise nonetheless.

After a few minutes of walking in comfortable silence, Mark had a realisation, “We should totally do a collab while I'm here!” He was about to suggest something to do with Dark and Anti, but realised throat slitting, big knives, and death threats may not be the best thing for Jack at the moment. “Like a sketch or a joint let’s play or a ‘Markiplier Makes:’ sort of thing!” he continued.

Jack and Mark’s collaboration conversation lasted the rest of their journey to the coffee shop, ending with Mark suggesting a third pole dancing video before realising there probably weren’t many pole dancing classes in Brighton, let alone ones willing to admit two idiots with a camera. By the time they stumbled through the doors of the café, both Mark and Jack were in fits of giggles (which drew many angry eyes towards them) over Jack’s inappropriate remark about them both having their own ‘poles’ to dance on so “why would we need to hire one?” It was a terrible joke that sounded like it came out of the mouth of a twelve year old boy, but that was exactly their sense of humour, so much so that Mark couldn’t even keep a straight face when he was ordering the coffee, much to the annoyance of the poor waitress.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise early upload! I'm going away for a week tomorrow and won't be able to take my laptop so I hope this longer chapter makes up for the next being late.  
> Also, I'm sorry this chapter was so pancake-centric; I recently found out that hardly any Americans celebrate Pancake Day (the BEST holiday) and if they do, it's with thick, spongy American pancakes (no offence to American pancakes, but they're just not the same)! Just thought I'd let you know Mark's reaction to British pancakes is practically a mirror image of my American friend's reaction when I made pancakes for her for the first time, so my pancake elitism does have some basis :P

The café was, thankfully, mostly empty so Mark and Jack could drink their coffee and eat their pancakes in peace.

“So this is what British pancakes are like, huh?” he asked, eyeing the large, thin ‘pancake’ suspiciously.

“Yeah, America’s got it all wrong; these are _real_ pancakes” Jack replied, his plate almost clear already. He really must have been hungry. “Trust me, I’ve had both and your tiny spongy discs are far inferior!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be the judge of that” Mark said, feeling slightly defensive of his country’s pancakes, for some reason. He took a bite, ready to be disappointed –Jack’s description had given him high expectations- and instantly found himself mourning 28 years of wasted pancake possibility. _How have I survived without this!?_

“The best thing is you can fold and roll them so you can have, like, Nutella-stuffed pancakes, and-” Jack continued, but Mark barely heard him over his pancake-induced shock. He was torn between hunger and wanting to savour this mouthful of Heaven, before realising that he had the entire rest of the pancake left. He _needed_ to bring a recipe home to America; normal pancakes just wouldn’t do after he had experienced this.

“-and these pancakes aren’t even that good” Mark tuned in to Jack’s rambling again, “I can make them ten times better at home. I-”

“You have to show me how to make these!” Mark interrupted, “Please, I’ll buy the ingredients! Just give me the recipe!” He began shovelling the pancake into his mouth, equally shocked by the flavour as he was the first time.

“Christ, Mark, sure,” Jack laughed, surprised by his friend’s insistence, “We’ll make pancakes as soon as we get back, alright?”

“I can’t wait,” Mark said, devouring the last of his pancake and sighing contentedly. He stared mournfully at his empty plate for a moment before starting on his coffee.

* * *

 Jack had thoroughly enjoyed watching Mark try a non-American pancake for the first time. He wondered when the last time he made pancakes was, and instantly thought of his girlfriend – ex-girlfriend (he needed to get used to saying that) - and him making pancakes together last Shrove Tuesday, almost a year ago now. He remembered her dabbing some of the mix on the end of his nose, and her soft laughter as she commented on how silly he looked. Upon remembering this, the pain he had managed to repress since Mark came over threatened to come flooding back.

Feeling the all-too-familiar panic rising in his chest, Jack forced himself to stare at Mark, to remind himself that he wasn’t alone. “Can we talk?” he asked, voice trembling unexpectedly.

Mark’s face suddenly became serious, and Jack admired the ease with which he could control (or at least appear to control) his emotions. “Of course,” he replied, with a voice that made Jack question whether he intentionally changed his voice to sound so comforting or whether it, too, was subconscious.

“I just- you’ve read the letter so you know why but, I don’t know, I just want to let it all out to someone, I guess” Jack began, flustered and stumbling over his words. He felt Mark’s hands envelop his and looked up to see his friend’s sincere eyes staring deep into his.

“Tell me everything,” he said.

* * *

 For over an hour, Mark listened, horrified at the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. Their coffee had long ago run out, but nobody came to clear their cups or ask if they wanted more. New customers chose the farthest booth from the shaking green-haired man and his friend, not wanting to eavesdrop on what was obviously such a personal conversation.

Both men were brought to tears several times, especially Jack, but neither of them commented on it. The words just flowed until there was nothing left to say. Once he was sure Jack was finished, Mark asked, “One more coffee before we hit the road (or, I guess, the sidewalk since you don’t drive)?”

“Sure,” Jack replied, visibly relieved to have gotten that off his chest, “Sorry for rambling so much though”

“Don’t you dare apologise,” Mark warned, “You know when you feel so strongly about something that normal words just won’t cut it and you have to swear to get the point across?” he paused, seeing Jack’s small smile at his reference to their earlier conversation, “Yeah, don’t you fucking dare apologise” he said before standing up to buy some more coffee.

“Oh no, this is on the house,” the cashier said when Mark reached for his wallet at the counter, “You're clearly going through some stuff right now. I’d be a horrible person if I didn’t pay. This one’s on me.”

“Wow, thanks,” Mark said, free coffees in his hand. Walking back over to Jack, sensing the need for a new conversation, he began “So about that collab…”

“No bloody pole dancing!” Jack interjected, small smile betraying his tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, “How about a ‘Markiplier Makes: Pancakes. Real pancakes’”

Mark set down the coffees, looked straight into Jack’s eyes, and stated simply “Hell. Yes.”

* * *

  _Bread: check. Milk: check. Eggs: check._ Jack was looking through his extensive shopping list, making sure he and Mark hadn’t missed anything, when Mark surprised him by throwing a bunch of herbs at him.

“What’s this?” he asked, confused.

“Thyme” Mark was grinning smugly, and it made Jack suspicious.

“Why…? It’s not on the list,” Jack replied, suspicion rising even further.

“It’s a medicinal herb. The best out there, in fact.” Mark’s smug grin grew even wider.

“I'm pretty sure it’s not, Mark. Isn’t thyme related to mint?”

“Yes, but it has been known to heal every wound out there, mental and physical.” He wasn’t even trying to hide his grin now, making Jack want to slap it right off his face. _What am I not getting here!?_

“You’re trying to tell me that thyme heals all wou-” Jack groaned when he realised the terrible pun, embarrassed that he didn’t get it earlier. “For fuck’s sake, Mark!” he exclaimed a little too loudly, turning around to see the mother of a young child glaring at him from further down the aisle. “For fuck’s sake, Mark,” he whispered, turning around again to mouth ‘sorry’ at the disgusted mother, “You’ve been playing too much Dream Daddy; the dad puns are starting to infect you!”

Mark was snickering, evidently proud of himself. “Shut up or we’re not making pancakes!” Jack threatened, and Mark fell silent immediately, miming zipping his lips. “Put that bloody thyme back whilst I go pay” he said, rolling his eyes, only allowing himself to smirk once Mark couldn’t see his face. _Okay_ , he admitted to himself, _that was a good one._

* * *

 It was half past four by the time Mark and Jack arrived back at Jack’s apartment, each with both hands brimming with shopping bags. Both immediately dropped the bags as soon as they stepped through the door, eager to return feeling to their numb fingers. Even though the sofa looked irresistibly tempting, Mark forced his tired arms and legs to help Jack unpack the shopping, although he wasn’t much help since he didn’t know where anything went so he mostly stood around awkwardly.

“So shall we film this ‘Markiplier Makes’ now?” Jack asked once everything was finally unpacked.

“As much as I love the pancakes over here, I think I’d love five minutes of rest right now even more.” Mark replied, already flopping down onto the sofa.

“I am so glad you said that,” Jack sighed, practically collapsing on the couch next to Mark, “I don’t have _infinite_ energy, you know.”

The room was silent except for the two men’s slow breathing. Mark closed his eyes, contemplating the hectic day he’d had. It felt like months had passed since he found Jack’s place empty. Had it really only been early that morning (or was it late last night?). Either way, he cherished the steady sound of Jack’s breathing next to him. _Who needs pancakes when you have moments like these?_

“I’m so glad you're my friend,” Jack murmured, breaking the silence.

“Me too,” Mark replied, “Me fucking too.” He heard Jack snicker. Mark was enjoying this in-joke they were developing.

“So, pancakes,” Jack grunted a few minutes later, pushing himself up from the couch.

“Yes, pancakes,” Mark followed, his tired legs protesting but his stomach urging him along. Through an unspoken agreement, Mark set up the camera and microphone whilst Jack sorted out the ingredients.

“Ready?” Mark asked once everything was set up, finger hovering over the record button.

“Ready,” Jack stated, diving into his impression of Mark’s intro as soon as the camera was recording. “Hullo everybody, my name is Markiplier and welco-”

“WHAPISHHH! TOP O’ DA MORNIN’ TO YA LADDIES,” Mark cut him off, leaping into frame and almost hitting Jack with his over-enthusiastic high five “WE’RE GONNA BE MAKIN’ GOOD OL’ IRISH PANCAKES!”

Both men broke down into laughter, but didn’t bother making another intro; the audience would just have to deal with their hyperactivity.

“I know we’ve already done a pancake episode,” Mark began after they had recovered.

“But now we’re making REAL pancakes!” Jack interrupted.

“And we’re sort of working with each other, not against, and there’s no timer, and we have recipes that we actually stick to, so it’s not really anything like a ‘Markiplier Makes:’ video…” Mark added pausing for effect, “SO LET’S GET STARTED!” and both men burst into laughter again.

As the video progressed, it became clear that it was more Jack making the batter and Mark commentating in his Bim Trimmer voice rather than them both making it together. It was a development that both were happy with.

“What are we adding now, Jackieboy?” asked Mark, using a wooden spoon as a microphone and gesturing in typical Bim fashion.

“What does it look like? It’s eggs, you fucking idiot,” Jack replied, laughing to himself.

“Ooh now look at him! Grating that lemon like a pro!” added Mark –or rather Bim-, putting his face comically close to the grater, retreating quickly when Jack jokingly threatened to squirt lemon juice in his eye.

When the mix was done and the lemon rind was added, Mark dipped his finger in, much to Jack’s distaste. “Have you even washed your hands?” He scolded, but mark just shrugged his shoulders and turned around, pretending to lick the batter off his finger. When Jack wasn’t looking, however, Mark gave a knowing look at the camera before leaning around to wipe it on the tip of Jack’s nose, giggling when Jack jumped back and glared at him.

Jack was transported back to the previous February when his girlfriend had done the same thing to him but, for the first time since their breakup, he didn’t feel his thoughts descend into the usual black void. Instead, he just grinned and murmured “You bastard” before trying to dab batter on Mark’s nose, missing and smearing it on his cheek instead, causing both men to burst into laughter yet again.

Jack couldn’t remember the last time he had been this happy.

“At least it tastes nice,” Mark commented after wiping the pancake batter off his cheek and licking his fingers clean.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Jack laughed, wiping his nose with a paper towel.

“Right,” Mark said in his Bim Trimmer voice, turning to face the camera. He had lost his wooden spoon so instead used the batter-covered whisk, which dripped onto his shirt, “Now it’s time to bake the (pan)cakes! How are you feeling about this development, Jackieboy?”

“Like you’re a god damn idiot, Mark.” Jack replied, smirking, “Just get over here and help me cook.” Mark looked like he was about to form a comeback but laughed instead and joined Jack at the oven, where two oiled pans were waiting.

Jack and Mark both made one pancake each, making a show of them to the camera and judging whose was best before filming the outro so they could finally turn off the camera and eat.

* * *

“You’re right,” Mark sighed, hand resting on his stomach which felt fit to burst, “These are even better than the ones from the café.”

“What did I tell you?” replied Jack, equally full, “The lemon rind really adds to the flavour. I can give you the recipe, if you want.”

“Oh yeah,” Mark had almost forgotten about that. He reached for his phone to write down the recipe, but a notification caught his eye: Jack’s birthday. “Wait, I’ve something to give you first”, he said, hauling himself off the sofa to riffle through his bag for Jack’s present.

“Oh no, you shouldn’t have,” Jack replied, and Mark guessed that this must be his only gift this year.

“No, it’s nothing special,” Mark mumbled, pulling out a messily-wrapped box, tied with a green ribbon which didn’t match the wrapping paper. _Oh well_ , he had thought when wrapping it the day before his flight, _it’s the thought that counts._

Handing the box, battered from travel, over to Jack’s hesitant hands, he suddenly hoped it hadn’t broken and chastised himself for not using more bubble wrap. He held his breath as Jack carefully untied the ribbon, lifted the lid of the box, and parted the bubble wrap. Oh no, he hates it, Mark thought as Jack stared for a second at the parcel in his lap before gently picking up the, thankfully intact, gift to view it more clearly.

“Do you like it?” he asked hesitantly, and was surprised to see tears in his friend’s eyes when he looked up.

* * *

 Jack heard Mark’s question but couldn’t bring himself to speak. How could he put into words how much this meant to him? Mark probably thought it was a stupid gift- a personalised mug, with a collage of pictures of the two of them ranging from when they first met to the most recent event they had both attended- but to Jack it was a reminder that he was not alone, a reminder of all the good times they had spent together, a reminder that life had been –and could again get- better.

He felt stupid welling up over a mug, but it was the closest he could get to expressing his true gratitude, the reasons for which Mark may never truly understand.

“I love it, Mark. I fucking love it.” He said after a long pause, looking up to see delight and relief spread across his friend’s face before standing up and wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug.

“I’m glad,” he heard Mark murmur in his ear, wrapping his arms around Jack and leaning his head on his shoulder.

The two men held each other in their arms, neither wanting to let go, both wanting this moment to last for ever.

When they finally did pull away, they kept their arms on each other’s waists, staring into each other’s eyes in silence.

 _Am I really going to do this?_ Thought Jack.

 _Am I really going to do this?_ Thought Mark.

Together, they leaned in closer, closing the space between them inch by inch…

Until their lips met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drinking game: take a shot every time the words "pancake" or "pancakes" are written. Except don't, because you will probably die...  
> As always, corrections and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :)


	6. Mistakes

Mark could feel his heart racing in his chest. Was he really kissing one of his closest friends? And was that friend kissing him back? He opened his eyes for a second, just to confirm whether this was really happening (although the sensation of Jack’s stubble brushing against his was enough of an indicator) and sure enough, there was the face of Sean McLoughlin, eyes closed, in front of him- kissing him.

 _I could get used to this_ , he thought.

* * *

 Jack had surprised even himself. _Was I the first to lean in? Either way, Mark did too and he isn’t pulling away now, so…_

He tried to tell himself to stop overthinking things and to just enjoy the moment. He was kissing Mark Fischbach, after all: one of his best friends and the man who had saved his life! He didn’t care that it made him question everything he thought he knew about himself; he was enjoying it and Mark seemed to be enjoying it, so why ruin the moment?

The feeling of a hand running up his back sent shivers down his spine.

 _I_ _could definitely get used to this._

* * *

 Neither man was aware of how much time had passed, nor how they had ended up sprawled on the sofa, but both had the same thought on their minds.

“So, what now?” Jack was the first to ask when they finally pulled away.

“I… don’t know,” Mark replied, untangling himself from the knot of limbs that was him and Jack, “I’ve still got a few days before my flight; I was planning on going sightseeing, and-”

“Us, Mark. What’s going on with us?” Jack cut him off.

“Ah, yeah…” there was a pause, “let’s not overthink things, right? Can’t we just see where this goes first and then decide what we want to call it?” Mark was avoiding meeting Jack’s eyes, partially because he thought that if he stared into those gorgeous blue eyes, he might not be able to stop himself from kissing him again.

“Fine by me,” Jack yawned, checking the time, “I know it’s early but I think I'm gonna go to bed. My sleep schedule is even more fucked than usual right now.” he said, dragging himself off the couch and towards the bathroom.

“Ah, do you want me to go to my hotel, then?” Mark asked, hoping the reply would be no. Something inside him feared for what would happen if he left Jack alone for another night. He seemed a lot better at the moment, but there was no telling whether he would relapse, and Mark wanted to be there for him if he did.

Jack paused before answering, and he sounded slightly shy when he said “Not if you don’t want to, I mean, you’ve slept in my bed before, haven’t you? What harm would another night do?” Mark found this frankly adorable and smiled to himself for a few seconds before joining Jack in the bathroom to brush his teeth. This was going to be a good few days.

* * *

 As both men laid in bed, exhausted, Jack yet again went over the events of this hectic day in his mind. It felt like a cruel dream, from which he would wake up to find himself alone and melancholy, with no Mark to save him this time around. Lying on his side he listened to the sound of Mark’s steady breathing behind him and attempted to allow the soothing sound to calm his thoughts and lull him into sleep.

However, when he felt a light kiss planted between his shoulder blades, something deep inside him knew that this was not a dream…

* * *

 In what felt like no time, two days passed. On the first, Jack and Mark woke up at nine to walk around Brighton for the day and visit the beach and pier. Thankfully for them, it was another grey day so everyone had stayed inside and they were only recognised once. In the evening, Jack discovered Mark had never watched Rick and Morty and insisted on watching at least the first five episodes; after getting hooked, Mark insisted they watch at least five more. And so it was that they both fell asleep on the sofa in each other’s arms to the sound of a stuttering man ranting to a stammering teenager about aliens.

On the second day, they met up with Felix, Marzia, and PJ, but by an unspoken agreement, neither Mark nor Jack mentioned anything that had happened two days beforehand. They did, however, get some knowing glances from Marzia when they sat a little too close together or caught each other’s eyes and held each other’s gaze for just a second longer than most people would. If she knew anything, however, she didn’t mention it.

The sun had finally decided to show its face that day, and it was warm (by Brighton in February standards) so the streets were flooded. After being stopped for the umpteenth time, the group decided it was best to cut the day short, and so Mark and Jack spent the rest of the day alone, enjoying their dwindling time together.

The third day was the day on which Mark was booked to fly back to America…

* * *

 “Is there no way you can change your flight?” Jack asked, sulking over his bowl of cornflakes.

“I want to stay as much as you want me to, but I already booked the ticket ages ago; I can’t change it now” replied Mark, stuffing the last of his belongings into his suitcase.

Jack sighed before murmuring “I’ll miss you”, looking down at the table so as not to meet Mark’s eyes.

“I’ll miss you too,” Mark replied, sitting down next to Jack, “but you can text me or call me whenever you need me, you know that right?”

“Mmhmm” Jack was still staring at the table.

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid” said Mark, gently taking Jack’s face in his hands and turning it so that Jack would meet his eyes.

“I promise” Jack replied, gazing deep into Mark’s eyes.

“Besides,” said Mark, bringing Jack’s face closer to his, “we can still make the best of the few hours we have left”, and with that, their lips met.

* * *

 Jack had been dreading the day Mark was supposed to leave but now, with his lips against Mark’s, he could clear his mind and forget his worries, and just lose himself in the moment.

It began softly, cautiously, like the kisses they had shared over the past few days. As time went on, however, Jack could feel the kiss morphing into something different- something more passionate.

He could feel Mark’s hands running through his hair and underneath his T-shirt, down his back and across his chest. Without realising it, Jack’s hands had been doing the exact same thing.

Still kissing, the men stood up and, in between kisses of ever-increasing intensity, worked their way towards Jack’s bedroom…

Jack took a moment to appreciate the surrealism of what was currently happening: he was kissing Mark, one of his best friends, against the wall of his bedroom, just hours before said friend was supposed to be on a plane to America. _Will I ever get used to this feeling?_ He thought, running a hand through Mark’s black hair as he felt Mark’s hands running up and down his now bare back. _Wait, when did I take my shirt off?_ He opened his eyes for a second, seeing Mark’s bare chest in front of him. _When did Mark take his shirt off!?_

Determined to make the most of this time and to memorise every square inch of Mark’s body, Jack ran his hand down Mark’s chest, further down across his abdomen, and even further down, eliciting a small noise from Mark, a noise he was determined to hear again, without Mark holding back.

Jack practically dragged Mark off the wall and onto the bed, where he ran a hand along his hips and began to unbutton his trousers…

* * *

 “Wait,” breathed Mark, putting his hand on Jack’s to stop things going any further.

“You don’t want to-” Jack began, a look of mortification growing on his face.

“No, no I do. Trust me, I _really_ do but I just need to make sure you’re okay with this” Mark clarified before Jack grew any redder.

“Well, yeah,” replied Jack, “why do you think I was about to take off your bloody trousers?” he laughed, “Speaking of which…” and he began to pull down Mark’s pants further. For a moment, Mark considered going along with it –God knows he wanted to- but his conscience wouldn’t let him. He needed to clear something up first.

“It’s just,” he added, “you, well, you were suicidal a few days ago, Jack. I don’t want this to just be a rebound after you and your girlfriend split up. I don’t want you to regret this in the future and I certainly don’t want to take adva-”

“Take advantage of me!?” Jack interrupted, clearly offended. _Shit, I shouldn’t have said that_ , Mark thought, regretting his words instantly. “Do you really think I'm so mentally broken that you have to worry about that? If you hadn’t noticed, _I’m_ the one who was trying to fuck _you_ , Mark!”

“That’s not what I meant!” Mark pleaded, buttoning his pants back up, “Look, the words came out wrong. I just meant-”

“Just save it Mark, save it” snapped Jack, searching for his shirt, “I can’t believe you would think that this is just a rebound or a product of my mental state- that I don’t actually want this. Did the past three days mean nothing to you?”

Mark was lost for words. _Why did I have to go and fuck it up? I should have just stayed quiet and everything would have gone great. Now I've gone and ruined the last few hours we have together._

“Look,” said Jack, noticing Mark’s silence, “we’ve spent three days together. Don’t you think it’s time we had some privacy? You’ve packed your bags already, so why not get to the airport early?” he found Mark’s shirt and threw it to him -or rather at him- avoiding eye contact. “I’m going out to get some fresh air” he said, and Mark couldn’t bring himself to say anything whilst he heard the front door slam.

Despondent, Mark pulled his shirt over his head, only then realising how tight he had been gripping it, and had one last look around Jack’s room. How could one bedroom bring back so many memories of such a short period of time? And how could some be amazing whilst others were among the worst moments of his life?

Sighing, he picked up his suitcase in the living room and felt a tear roll down his cheek before he even realised he was crying. He hurriedly wiped it away and exited the front door into the rain before he could tempt himself to stay; he’d angered Jack enough already. As much as he didn’t want to leave things on such a bad note, he sensed that trying to resolve things right now would only make things worse. He forced himself to type the number of the taxi company that would take him to the airport: away from Jack

* * *

 Striding along the pebbled beach, Jack couldn’t tell if his face was wet with tears or rain. Probably both. He didn’t know where he was walking to; he just knew he was walking away- away from Mark and his embarrassment. He was in dire need of a coffee, but didn’t want to risk going back to his house in case Mark was still there. Upon remembering that he hadn’t locked his door, however, he realised he’d have to take the risk sooner or later, and so he begrudgingly turned around and began the long walk back to his house.

“Mark?” he called through the door when he arrived back. He was mostly relieved when no answer came, but a small part of him wanted to talk to Mark and to hold him in his arms one last time before they were once more separated by thousands of miles.

Jack began to make himself a cup of coffee, but when he reached into his cupboard to pull out a mug, he saw in his hands his and Mark’s faces smiling back at him, from the day they first met in person to the last convention they went to. He had loved the gift when Mark first gave it to him but in that moment, it only reminded him of his embarrassment and anger.

He raised the mug into the air, ready to watch it shatter into a thousand pieces on the floor. He hesitated.

“God damn it,” he murmured to himself, placing the cup back down on the counter, “I’ll get some coffee somewhere else.” And with that, he left his house (remembering to lock the door this time) and set off to the same coffee shop where he had told Mark everything only days before.

* * *

 Mark tried not to think about things too much at the airport, but when one arrives hours earlier to the flight than even the airport recommends, there is not much for one to do but think. He mostly passed the time by browsing in the ridiculously expensive airport shops and getting a cup of coffee at the equally overpriced Starbucks, but soon there was nothing left to occupy his mind and his thoughts wandered.

He stared at his phone screen, refraining –albeit with great difficulty- from texting Jack and opting instead to check social media. Despite his pre-recording and scheduling uploads in preparation for the trip, news had still got out that Mark was in Brighton with Jack and, naturally, the hard-core Septiplier shippers were going crazy. _Huh_ , thought Mark, _I guess they weren’t entirely wrong this time._ *

Seeing the fanart of him and Jack together brought a stab of pain to his heart. _Why did I have to mess things up, he chastised himself, and why didn’t I try harder to fix things?_ With that thought, Mark finally caved in and allowed himself to send a text to Jack. After writing and deleting numerous lengthy paragraphs attempting to explain his feelings and make up for what he said, he settled on two simple words: I’m sorry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *(except in this universe where they _are_ wrong)
> 
> Wow, this chapter was awkward to write, and that's _both_ definitions of the word, but it's important to the story so I had to get it right. Anyway feel free to correct any mistakes I've made or leave feedback. Thanks.


	7. Regrets

Jack was brooding over his coffee when she walked in. He didn’t even notice her until she sat down opposite him. When he looked up to try to discern the identity of this stranger, he saw concern in her blue eyes.

“You look like you’ve been crying,” she said matter-of-factly, “do you want to talk about it?”

Jack, who was not prepared for any human interaction at that moment, was momentarily stunned by her upfront manner. “I don’t really think I should be spilling my guts to an absolute stranger” he mumbled.

“I think strangers are the best people to spill your guts to, since you’re never going to see them again” said the girl, taking a sip of her coffee and gazing out of the window at the busy street.

“I guess,” Jack murmured into his cup, avoiding making eye contact with the blonde woman in front of him “but you’re gonna need to say more than that to convince me. Why do you want to hear me complain anyway? Are you a sadist, a masochist, or both?” he asked, finishing his drink and intensely staring into the bottom of the cup as if it held the answers to all his problems encoded in the leftover coffee granules.

“I just want to help people whenever I can,” she replied, “and if that means listening to strangers complain then so be it. As for convincing you, if I buy you another coffee, will you talk to me?”

In any other circumstance, Jack would have refused, but there was just something about this girl that made him believe he could trust her. Plus he _was_ out of coffee. “Fine” he replied, after some hesitation, “but you’ve brought this upon yourself.”

And so it was that, for the second time in the span of a few days, Jack was sat in a café revealing his most private emotions to someone, although the story had progressed since he told it to Mark. He left out most of the details for the sake of the stranger, but it still took over half an hour to get everything off his chest, after which he felt relieved but also embarrassed to have placed such a burden on a total stranger.

“I think,” she said once she was sure Jack had finished, “you should talk to him. He clearly didn’t mean to upset you.”

“I guess,” Jack replied, “but he’ll be on a flight to America soon, and I don’t want to do it over text.”

“Then go to the airport,” the girl suggested, writing something on a slip of paper, “you said he has a while until he boards his flight still, right?”

“But what if I don’t get there in time?” Jack asked.

“Who cares? You have to at least try! And here,” she said, handing him the paper, “I know I said you’d never have to see me again, but if you need someone to talk to, you can text me.”

“Wow, thanks. I could be a psychopath, you know, and you’ve just given me your number.”

“I highly doubt you’re a psychopath” the girl laughed, checking her watch, “anyway I was only supposed to stop in for a quick coffee so I’d better go. And you’d better go chase that man at the airport!” she added, standing up to leave.

“I will…” Jack replied. “Wait!” he realised after a few seconds, “You never told me your name!” but the girl was already out of the door. Unfolding the piece of paper she had given him, he saw her phone number, underneath which she had signed her name: Signe.

* * *

 Mark glanced at his phone again: still no reply. _He’s probably mad at me. I knew I shouldn’t have sent it._ The time of his flight was growing ever closer, and any foolish hopes he had of Jack bursting through the airport doors and kissing him like at the end of most cheesy rom-coms were dwindling. _Why hadn’t I stayed? I could have talked to him. I could have cancelled my flight and stayed for longer. I could have… I could have…_ Despite being in the middle of a busy airport, Mark could feel himself welling up.

He tried to distract himself by thinking happy thoughts, but the only memories that came to his mind were him showering Jack in confetti, making pancakes with Jack, and kissing Jack. What he wouldn’t give to relive those moments.

“Are you okay?” asked a girl’s voice next to him, “You look like you're about to cry. Wanna talk about it?”

“No, I’m fine,” Mark snapped, adding a tentative “thanks” when he realised he probably sounded a bit harsh.

“Alright, alright, I was only trying to help” said the girl. _Great_ , thought Mark, _that’s two people I've upset today. Can’t I do anything right?_ He turned to look at her and opened his mouth to apologise, but the pink-haired girl had already put her earphones in and was looking at her phone: a clear “don’t talk to me”.

Mark, restless, stood up and headed towards the overpriced airport shops; he wasn’t going to buy anything, but at least browsing might take his mind off things.

Whilst staring at (and being rather confused by) a packet of English Smarties in a sweet aisle, Mark’s heart skipped a beat when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He was both terrified and excited to see Jack’s reply. _What if he’s asking me to stay? What if he hates me? What if he’s coming here?_ The option Mark didn’t consider, and the one he found to be true when he fumbled to turn on his phone, was that the notification read: _Battery 15% or lower. Please find a charger._

Feeling disappointed and slightly embarrassed, Mark slid his phone back into his pocket and took a few deep breaths until his heartbeat steadied. _Still an hour to go_ , he reminded himself, _everything can still change in an hour._

Half an hour later, and with no reply from Jack, Mark told himself: _Still thirty minutes to go. Everything can still change in thirty minutes… right?_

* * *

 Jack was unbearably restless in the taxi. The word seemed to be against him; every traffic light turned red just before they reached it and there were people waiting at seemingly every zebra crossing. He had told the taxi driver about the urgency of his situation but, infuriatingly, he refused to go even a few kilometres per hour over the speed limit, and so Jack was left with nothing to do but worry in the back of the taxi.

He wasn’t wearing a watch and had left his phone at home to avoid getting any texts from Mark (a decision he greatly regretted now) so had no idea what time it was. Furthermore, he had no idea which flight Mark was catching or how he’d find him at the airport, but it was too late to turn back to get his phone now. He had to at least try.

What felt like an eternity passed until the taxi finally arrived outside the airport. Jack was in such a hurry he almost forgot to pay the driver.

“Keep the change,” he said, handing the driver a £20 note before sprinting towards the airport doors. There was no time to lose.

Ignoring the puzzled looks from weary travellers, he weaved through crowds of people to find the sign which told passengers which terminal to go to. Scanning through the list, he found what he was looking for: LA- Terminal 30.

Filled with hope, Jack set off again, his sprint now a brisk walk so he wouldn’t get stopped by airport security. He kept his eyes open for anyone who looked remotely like Mark. He strained his mind to remember what his friend had been wearing that morning, but could only remember running a hand down his bare chest…

He pushed the thought out of his mind; a crowded airport was not the best place to think about these kinds of things.

 _Terminal 26... 27... 28... 29…_ He listed in his head as he speed-walked past sign after sign.

 _Terminal 30! Finally!_ Jack could see the ticket gate from where he was standing; he hoped Mark hadn’t gone through already or he wouldn’t be able to follow. He elbowed his way through the queue of people, mumbling apology after apology and explaining that he wasn’t actually boarding this flight, just looking for someone. As he got closer and closer to the ticket gate, passing face after face that wasn’t Mark’s, his hope dwindled. By the time he reached the front of the queue, having seen no sign of Mark, security had already noticed him.

“Sir, may we ask you to join the end of the queue?” asked a tall, muscular security guard in a tone that implied his statement was a command rather than a question.

“No, you don’t understand, I’m not catching this fli-” Jack began, stopping when he saw a man with black hair in a red flannel just a few metres past the ticket gate, “Mark!” He called, shouting louder when he didn’t turn around, “MARK!”

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to stop shouting,” said the other security guard, placing her hand on Jack’s shoulder.

“No, please just wait,” begged Jack before continuing his shouting, “MARK! I'M SORRY! MARK, TURN AROUND!”

“Alright, then,” sighed the taller officer, grabbing both Jack’s shoulders and beginning to drag him from the queue, “if you’re not going to co-operate…”

“NO!” shouted Jack, struggling against the security guard’s grip, tears blurring his vision, “MARK! I’M SORRY! JUST PLEASE TURN AROUND! PLEASE!”

Finally, the man in the red flannel did turn around, as had most of the people in the line by this point, but the eyes that met Jack’s were not the deep brown ones he had grown to love. Instead, the man in the flannel rolled his blue eyes at the strange, shouting, green-haired man and turned back around to advance in the line towards his plane.

Dejected, Jack could say nothing as he let the security guards drag him away.

“Sir, you cannot act like that in an airport. You're lucky we don’t report you to the police” said the female guard, eyeing Jack cautiously, “Who is this Mark person you are looking for? Maybe we can help you find him.”

Jack, who had been staring after the impostor in the red flannel, snapped awake at the sound of Mark’s name. There was still hope of finding him. Realising what a scene he had just caused, Jack wiped away his tears in embarrassment. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I have this friend – well I guess we were more than that- but we fell out and it’s all my fault and-”

“Which flight is he on?” interrupted the shorter officer, “we can’t help you unless we know which flight he’s supposed to catch.”

“Right,” mumbled Jack, “I think it’s the 12:30 flight to LA”.

The security guards shared an uncomfortable look. Jack didn’t like it.

“Sir,” said the male guard, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this but it’s 12:47. That flight left a quarter of an hour ago…”

* * *

 Meanwhile, Mark was trying to conserve what little battery life he had left. His phone was on flight mode, so he knew he wouldn’t be able to receive any texts, but playing on his phone was the only way to distract himself from his own thoughts. Despite being on the lowest screen brightness setting, he knew his last 6% wouldn’t last the rest of the thirteen hour flight. Sure enough, after forty-five minutes, Mark’s phone’s screen went black and he was forced to re-live the past few days on loop in his head until he could force himself to go to sleep.

What few dreams Mark had in his fitful sleep were of Jack: in one, Jack ran through the airport doors and convinced Mark to stay in England; in another, Mark could only watch as Jack struck up a relationship with a blonde girl and forgot all about him; in a third - one which terrified him so much that he woke up in a cold sweat, heart threatening to beat out of his chest- he watched as Jack stood on the bridge again, and he was not able to stop him as he fell.

Clearly, sleeping was going to be just as torturous as staying awake.

* * *

 Jack felt empty when he trudged through his front door, sodden and leaving a trail of drips in his wake. He spotted his phone on the kitchen counter, by the mug Mark had designed for him. He didn’t know what to expect when he turned it on, but he was both hopeful and terrified.

One unread text:

Mark: I’m sorry.

Jack wasn’t sure how to react. He was happy Mark had forgiven him, but that meant if he hadn’t talked to that girl, he could have caught Mark before his flight and apologised. He could have convinced him to stay. Tears welled up in Jack’s eyes and nausea rose in his stomach as he hastily typed a response: You know when you feel so strongly about something that normal words just won’t cut it and you have to swear to get the point across? Yeah, I’m so fucking sorry, Mark.

As soon as he pressed send, Jack ran to the bathroom, feeling the vomit rising in his throat. Sobbing, he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet, shaking all over. The same words circled through his mind: “That flight left a quarter of an hour ago”, “I’m going to miss you”, “I’m sorry”.

_Look at me, sobbing on the floor of my bathroom. I'm a pathetic mess. I couldn’t even stop Mark from leaving…_

Grabbing onto the sink to slowly pull himself up off the ground, Jack opened his medicine cabinet to look for something to settle his stomach. Among the ibuprofen and paracetamol, a solitary box of razor blades stared back at him…

Jack’s breathing quickened and his wrists began to sting with the memory of the cold, sharp steel. He stood motionless, for a moment, his eyes never leaving the box, as if if he looked away, it would attack him –or rather he would attack himself. Feeling fear begin to grip him, Jack searched his pockets for something -anything- that might help him in some way, even though he was sure they were empty. He stopped in his tracks when he found a folded piece of paper in his hoodie pocket. Tearing his eyes away from the terrifying temptation of the razors, he looked down to see the number of the girl from that morning: Signe.

Dragging himself out of the bathroom, he dialled her number with shaking hands.

“Hello?” came the comforting voice on the other end of the line.

Hi,” said Jack, clearing his throat when he realised how feeble his voice sounded, “it’s Jack from the coffee shop. Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?”


	8. Anticipation

After picking up a very ecstatic Chica from her dog sitter, the first thing Mark did when he arrived home was put his phone on charge and collapse into bed, exhausted from his travels. Everything looked strangely unchanged, despite the past few days having flipped his life upside down. In a way, the familiarity of his surroundings was comforting; it allowed him to momentarily pretend that none of that stuff with Jack had actually happened, and life was the same as always, at least until he fell asleep.

When he woke up with a start from another nightmare, sweating and shaking, in the dim light, Mark could see Chica sitting patiently by his bed, her eyes emanating concern.

“Yeah, you can come up.” he told her, and she leaped up onto the bed, snuggling up next to him. The memories of his dream were already fading fast, but he knew it was about Jack again.

“Your daddy’s been an idiot” he whispered to Chica, the noise sounding remarkably loud in the otherwise silent house. He pressed his face into her fur, letting the familiar scent calm his racing heart. _I can’t do anything now_ , he reminded himself, _it can wait until morning. I can fix everything in the morning._

The hours crept by slowly with some sporadic spurts of fitful sleep, but mostly Mark just stared at the ceiling and let his mind wander, feeling the comforting rise and fall of Chica’s chest beside him. Only when the first red rays of sun illuminated the room with a dull glow did he allow himself to get out of bed.

Mark calculated that it must be almost 3pm in England, so he allowed himself to have a quick shower and eat breakfast before returning to his bedroom and unplugging his phone, dreading what he would see when he turned it on…

* * *

Jack was in the middle of recording a video when his Skype alerted him of an incoming call. He usually ignored any attempt to contact him when he was busy, but Slime Rancher could wait. Exiting the game, his heart skipped a beat when he saw the name on the screen: Mark Fischbach…

In his panic-ridden call to Signe the previous day, he thought she had helped him figure out his feelings towards Mark. He realised Mark had been right all along. Jack had just been alone for so long he was craving any human contact. He didn’t really like Mark in that way did he?

Now, with that name and Mark’s goofy profile picture in front of him, he wasn’t quite sure what he felt any more. Why did things have to be so complicated?

Tentatively clicking the button to accept the call, Jack was shocked to see Mark looking so haggard; his eyes were red and swollen, with dark bags beneath them, and his hair was messy and untamed. Neither man spoke for a moment, both just staring at each other’s pixelated faces, realising they had no idea what to say. Jack was the first to break the silence.

“Hi…”

“Hi,” came the response. Mark was looking down, seemingly unable to meet even an image of Jack’s eyes “so… how are you doing?”

“I've been better” sighed Jack “but I'm alright. You?”

“Yeah, good…”

“That’s good…” There was a small pause before Jack continued, “Look, you were right. About everything. I just hope I haven’t ruined what we had.”

“No, I'm sorry” interrupted Mark, “I shouldn’t have doubted you. I just… I’m…”

“Can we just go back to how we were? You know, before all _that?_ ” Jack felt it would be kinder to tell Mark he just wanted to be friends, like they were before, at least until he sorted out what he really felt, however Mark’s reaction surprised him.

“Yeah!” Mark laughed, visibly relieved, “I was hoping you’d ask that. Wow, this went better than I expected, then.”

“Wait, you felt this way too?” Jack asked, confused, “I guess that makes things a lot easier…”

“You have no idea how much of a weight this is off my mind” Mark was rambling uncontrollably now, and Jack didn’t really mind. He was just happy that everything had somehow worked out well. It really seemed too good to be true. “I got, like, no sleep last night thinking about things. I mean, the jetlag can’t have helped much but still, I’m just so glad this worked out.” Mark was grinning on the other side of the screen, and Jack could feel himself doing the same.

“Anyway I was sort of in the middle of recording a video just then, so we can talk later, yeah?”

“Oh yeah that’s fine” Mark replied, “We should do a collab soon though, like old times. Anyway I’ll see you later, Jackieboy”

“Later, Markimoo” smirked Jack, taking one last look at Mark’s delighted face before ending the call. However, instead of continuing recording he grabbed his phone and dialled Signe. He was sure she’d be delighted to know her advice helped so much; he could barely believe it himself.

“Hey, Signe” he said excitedly.

“Hi, you doing okay Sean?”

“You’ll never guess what happened…” he teased

“Just tell me! Is it good news?”

“Well, Mark called, and he feels the same way I do. We've sorted everything out and I think things can go back to how they were before.”

“That’s great!” responded Signe, “I’m just glad you're happy. Who knew talking to a stranger in a coffee shop could do so much good?”

“I'm just glad you did.” said Jack, “Thanks for everything you’ve done for me. I know I’ve been a mess recently but maybe now I can be a better friend to you”

“There’s no need to apologise, Sean. I'm sure you’d do the same for me.” She told him, “Anyway aside from that, how’s your day been?”

* * *

Mark was ecstatic. He couldn’t believe that Jack felt the same way as him. He said he wanted to go back to how they were. What else could that mean but before the argument? He had considered risking an “I love you” before Jack hung up, but he could only bring himself to whisper it in the silence afterwards. The sun had risen fully, casting a golden glow on everything its light touched.

Mark and Jack had never discussed their relationship before. Are we boyfriends now? Mark thought. _Best leave things for a while before we have ‘the talk’. I don’t want to push things too quickly…_

He decided to film some feel-good videos whilst he was in such a good mood. He felt invincible. He felt like he could face anything the world had to offer him. He felt amazing.

His mood only improved when, halfway through a “Try not to laugh” video, he received a video from Jack. It was the footage for the ‘Markiplier Makes: Pancakes” video they had filmed together. Abandoning his current video, Mark immediately got to work editing this new project; he was going to make it the best video he could- it would be his ‘thank you’ to Jack.

He was tempted to include a message to Jack, at least in the description, but he stopped himself; he didn’t want to make their relationship too obvious to the viewers.

It was finally uploaded slightly after his usual schedule time (but that wasn’t unusual for Mark), with a description reading “I miss you, Jackieboy. See you at PAX East.” Surely nobody could figure anything out from that?

* * *

Jack was sitting with Signe in the coffee shop they first met in. The more time he spent with her, the more he grew to like her. She only seemed to see him as a friend, though. Although Jack admired her keeping her distance romantically so soon after everything with Mark, he’d told her he was over it. He could feel something amazing between them: a connection like none he’d ever felt before. He was sure she felt it too. _If only she’d stop being so thoughtful!_

“Can I ask you something, Signe?” he began. _No, no, don’t you dare say it, Jack. Don’t you dare…_

“Of course.” She replied, dragging her attention away from the adorable puppy out the window and onto Jack.

“Are you single?” his mouth continued, ignoring his brain’s protests. _For God’s sake, Jack,_ he scolded himself, _could you be any less subtle!?_ He could see that he had caught Signe off guard; she blushed momentarily and broke eye contact before regaining her usual composure.

“Yes I am, if you really want to know” she replied, “but it’s not been long since everything that happened with Mark. You’ve got to give yourself time, Sean”

“Yeah I know. Sorry I asked” replied Jack, embarrassed. _What did you expect?_ As if to save him from further humiliation, his phone vibrated. After fumbling around in his pockets, he saw the notification: ‘ _New from Markiplier_ : Markiplier Makes: Pancakes (Real Pancakes) ft. Jacksepticeye’.

 _Wow, he edited that quickly_ , Jack thought. He had sent Mark the footage after their Skype call, since he knew that Mark only saw him as a friend and would know if didn’t mean anything. They’d put all that effort into filming the video, after all, so why let it go to waste? He was glad things could go back to normal between him and Mark.

“Anything interesting?” inquired Signe.

“Not really,” replied Jack, glad at the change of conversation, “just a friend uploading a video.”

* * *

A month had passed since Jack’s birthday, and it was a month until Mark would be able to see Jack again at PAX. In that time, things between the two had mostly returned to normal; they made let’s plays together and talked on Skype when their schedules and time zones allowed it. They always used to jokingly flirt in the early years of their friendship, so Mark saw no harm in bringing back that habit; surely the viewers wouldn’t notice that it was real this time? Jack seemed to play along, too, and Mark often found himself editing out some of the most flirtatious parts of their collaborations out of paranoia. _One more month_ , he reminded himself, _then you can flirt all you like._

Earlier that day, Mark had had an idea. It would take some planning and relied on whether or not he would be hosting a ‘Markiplier and Friends’ panel at PAX this year, but he was determined to make it work. They would do a normal panel with games and jokes and then, when the moment was right, Mark would do something he had wanted to do since that first kiss with Jack what felt like an eternity ag0: he would ask Jack to be his boyfriend.

Mark was giddy with excitement, and couldn’t wait for the next month to pass. He wasn’t even sure he could hide his feelings from everyone for that long. _Will I ask Jack to move here to LA? Or will I move to Brighton with Jack? Sure, I’d miss my friends but it would be worth it to spend every day with him. Oh, I’ll decide later. There’s no rush._

“Are you excited to have another daddy, Chica-Pica?” He asked Chica, who wagged her tail happily as if in confirmation. “I’ll take that as a yes” he laughed. April couldn’t come soon enough.

* * *

It was just past 8 pm and Jack was busy responding to comments on his latest video. It was another collab with Mark and the comments section was filled with Septiplier shippers. Their apparent rise from the dead was understandable; he and Mark had been jokingly flirting a lot more in their videos lately. He was glad things had gone back to how they were. Mark had saved his life, after all, and he didn’t want to lose him as a friend. That Mark played along with the flirty jokes was a bonus; surely it meant he was completely over what happened between them? Otherwise things would be unbearably awkward…

He was going to have to start prepping videos for PAX soon, as it was only a month away. He had previously decided not to go that year to avoid the workload, but Mark had invited him to join his panel, so he couldn’t refuse. After all, it would be great to see Bob, Wade, and Ethan again as well as Mark.

In the meantime, Jack was meeting up with Signe more and more frequently. He felt himself beginning to really fall for her. In a moment of spontaneity, he invited her to go to PAX with him to watch the panel and see Boston. To his surprise, she said yes. It had been around a month since they had met, so he hoped she would realise he had gotten over Mark and liked her for _her_ , not because he wanted a rebound.

It was in that moment he had an idea…


	9. Confessions

Reality was swimming. Mark could feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. _Can they tell? Can **he** tell?_ He never usually got stage fright before panels, but this one was different. In less than half an hour, he would admit his feelings for Jack, live on stage. Whether or not the feeling was mutual was a thought Mark didn’t even consider. _Of course he feels the same! We haven’t stopped flirting since I left! And look at him now: he’s making eyes at me from across the table!_

“Mark, are you alright?” inquired Bob, concerned. “You look really pale.”

“Yeah,” added Ethan, “and you’ve seemed kind of distracted lately.”

Mark snapped out of his daze and looked around. Bob, Wade, Ethan, and Jack were all staring at him awaiting a response.

“Oh, yeah I’m fine. Just a bit nervous, that’s all; I’ve got something big planned for this panel.” he said, gazing longingly at Jack and trying with all his might to refrain from leaning over the table and kissing him then and there. Sure, they’d hugged when Mark picked up Jack from the airport, but he didn’t want to kiss Jack in front of Bob, Ethan and Wade, who’d come along too. After all, it was going to be a surprise for them as well. _Less than half an hour to go, now,_ he reminded himself, _then you can be as affectionate as you want. Maybe we could even pick up where we left off all those months ago…_

“Oh, I’ve actually got something planned too” added Jack, smiling to himself. Mark’s stomach did somersaults. _Could he really be planning the same thing as me!?_

“Look at you two, being all secretive!” Wade complained, “Why don’t you ever let us in on your plans?”

“That would ruin the surprise!” Jack replied, flashing a smile that made Mark’s heart skip a beat. How he looked forward to waking up to that smile every morning.

Ever since their Skype call the month prior, Mark’s life had practically revolved around Jack and his plans for the panel. He had refined and memorised every point of his speech, and more often than not found himself reciting it in the shower. He could convert between Pacific Standard Time and Greenwich Mean Time in a heartbeat now, having spent the last month constantly calculating when it would be a good time to call Jack.

They say when you’re in love, everything takes on a brighter hue; it’s like looking at the world through a new set of eyes that bring joy into even the smallest things. Mark was no exception. He was consciously obsessed and happier than ever. Life was simply perfect and nothing could ever ruin this.

_Nothing can ever ruin this…_

* * *

The past few months had been a blur. Between stockpiling videos and hanging out with Signe ever more frequently, Jack hadn’t realised the days flying by and, before he knew it, he was hanging out backstage with Mark, Ethan, Bob, and Wade waiting to start the ‘Markiplier and Friends’ panel.

Mark had been giving him strange looks all afternoon, but Jack had expected things to still be a little awkward when they met in person; it had only been two months since ‘the incident’, after all…

Jack refused to let that night overshadow the amazing time they’d had together beforehand and he especially wouldn’t let himself forget that Mark saved his life. If it wasn’t for Mark, Jack wouldn’t have lived to see his birthday, he wouldn’t have met Signe (who he was falling for more and more deeply every day), and he wouldn’t have realised that life is always worth living, despite what his demons said.

For that, he was forever indebted to him.

“Five minutes to go,” said one of the PAX employees, poking her head through the green room door, “time to get your microphones on.”

Jack could see Mark was getting even more nervous, and shared a concerned look with Bob. _Mark did say he was “planning something”_ , Jack thought, _is that what he’s getting himself worked up about?_ He had no time to contemplate his friend’s strange behaviour, though, as the five men were all whisked apart to have their microphones fitted and tested in preparation for the panel, where Jack could finally put his plan into action…

Jack was soon re-united with the others at the side of the stage, and had barely enough time to collect his thoughts before an employee signalled them to go on stage and begin the panel. He could hear the excited murmur of the crowd, and pictured Signe in the VIP row. It only just occurred to him that she might be put off by the fanbase, and he began to doubt his plan for the first time. It would certainly be humiliating if it didn’t work out…

He was forced to forget his worries when Mark pulled back the curtain and jogged, waving, onto the stage (eliciting ecstatic cheers from the crowd) and gestured for Jack and the others to follow.

It was almost time.

* * *

Mark was waiting for the right time. The typical panel games flew by in what felt like mere moments, and Mark spent the entire improv section of the panel trying to twist the situations into a good basis for his plan, but with no success. Time was like fine sand slipping between his fingers. He would have to do it in the Q&A or the panel would be over and his plan would have failed. He just needed someone to ask the right question…

The first question was (surprise, surprise) asking for tips on how to grow a YouTube channel. Mark, who must have answered this question hundreds of times before, just let the others talk about it whilst he fiddled irritably and recited his speech in his head, feeling the precious seconds tick by.

The second was asking Mark to play an indie game he’d never heard of, so he briskly answered that he would make a mental note of it but promptly forgot, willing someone to just hurry up and ask the right question.

Another question, another waste of time. _Come on,_ thought Mark, _there’s always someone who asks about relationships in these Q &As. Why are they taking so long to show up this time!?_

Mark checked his watch; there was only ten minutes of the panel left. _If the next question isn’t relevant, screw waiting for the right moment. I’ll ask my own god damn question._

As a nervous-looking girl was chosen from far back in the audience, Mark prepared himself to answer her as briskly as possible so he could move on to what was important: the plan. She giggled irritatingly as she took the microphone, wasting even more precious time. _Could she be any slower!?_

“I just wanted to ask…” she began, pausing to brush her hair out of her face. Even from this distance, Mark could see a smirk on her lips and a blush rising on her face. _Take your time_ , he thought sarcastically. “…whether Jack and Mark have any update on their relationship?” Giggling again, she promptly sat down in her seat, serenaded by cheers and whistles from small parts of the audience and irritated glares from the rest.

Mark hesitated, taking in what had just happened. This was it. This was the moment. Not long ago, he would have despised a question like this, but oh was this girl in for a surprise…

“Well,” began Mark and Jack simultaneously.

* * *

 “Oh no, you start” offered Jack. He had been waiting to see what Mark’s plan was throughout the panel. Was this it? He was fidgeting and grinning like a madman. He didn’t want to interrupt what Mark was obviously so excited about, whatever it was…

“No, no, I insist” replied Mark, gesturing for Jack to carry on. _Huh_ , thought Jack, _I guess he’ll do whatever he was planning later_. This girl was going to be sorely disappointed, but he was grateful for her finally giving him the opportunity to do what he had been planning all this time.

“Alright then,” Jack continued, “ I just wanted to talk about someone I’ve become very close to recently.”

* * *

 Mark’s heart was racing. Jack really was planning the same thing as him! It seemed a shame to waste his speech, but it didn’t really matter if Jack was going to say the exact same thing. A month of wasted time was nothing compared to the lifetime of happiness to follow.

_Nothing can ever ruin this._

He hoped his beaming smile wasn’t giving too much away, but he realised that soon everyone would know he and Jack felt about each other, so why try to hide it? Besides, Mark didn’t think he could have hidden his elation if he tried. After all this time, everything was finally falling into place.

“I have so many memories with this person that I’ll cherish for ever, but dearest of all is in the little coffee shop in Brighton where they let me talk their ear off about my problems.” Jack was blushing now, and Mark could feel heat rising in his cheeks too, as if to mirror him. “I was in a pretty dark place at that time, so it must have been a lot to take in, but I have no doubt that their selflessness stopped me from making some stupid decisions. For that, I am forever indebted to this person. This amazing human being.”

Mark could only stare dumbly as Jack talked, his words sounding remarkably similar to Mark’s speech. Somehow, miraculously, everything was going perfectly to plan, and he didn’t even have to try.

_Nothing can ever ruin this._

“I want to apologise in advance if there are any children in the audience, but you know when you feel so strongly about something that regular words just won’t cut it and you have to swear to get the point across?” Jack looked straight at Mark when he said this, and Mark couldn’t stop himself from tearing up. He didn’t think his heart could beat any faster, but it just kept on surprising him. The audience was completely silent, as were Bob, Wade, and Ethan, so all Mark could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and Jack’s voice. Jack’s amazing voice.

“Well, I just wanted to say, even if they don’t feel the same way about me,” Jack continued.

_I do, I do, I do._

“that I fucking love this person.”

I fucking love you too, Mark thought, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. He knew his voice would break embarrassingly if he tried. Instead, he took a step forwards and held out his arms, ready to embrace Jack. Then he’d whisper it in his ear and they would kiss on stage, in front of everyone. Jack just had to turn around…

_Nothing can ever ruin this._

* * *

 He’d done it. Jack had finally said it. He could see Signe in the VIP row and instantly hopped off the stage to join her, taking her hands in his and gazing into her beautiful blue eyes, glazed over with tears, as were his.

“I love you too, Jack.” Her words echoed around the silent arena and for a split second, one could have heard a pin drop…

Then the crowd erupted into applause and cheers. Soon everyone was standing, much to Jack’s delight. Beaming, he gestured for Signe to join him on stage for the rest of the panel. She blushed shyly but Jack insisted. Everyone seemed to love her, after all.

Jack turned around to see the guys’ reactions. Bob, Wade, and Ethan looked delighted; he was glad keeping his plan a secret had paid off, as the looks on their faces were priceless. But Mark… Jack couldn’t pin down the emotion on his friend’s face. Was it shock? He seemed to just be staring, blankly, his arms awkwardly half-raised…

 _Oh well_ , Jack thought, _I can talk to him later. Now is a time for celebration! I can’t believe it worked so perfectly!_ He led Signe onto the stage, where she was greeted with friendly hugs from Wade, Bob, and Ethan.

“I guess me and Mark are the only single ones left” Ethan joked, but Mark just kept staring at nothing in particular.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Mark,” said Signe kindly, “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Mark seemed to snap out of his daze, finally meeting Jack’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, avoiding looking at Signe, “I don’t feel too good; I think I’ll just sit these last few minutes out.” He began to hurry off stage, but Bob stopped him.

“Come on, can’t you at least say something to the lovebirds?” The audience shouted their approval, willing Mark to say something.

“Well”, he began, “I guess Septiplier is truly dead.” but there was no humour in his voice.

* * *

  _How? How could everything go so wrong? It was all going perfectly and then… and then…_ Mark rushed off stage, feeling nausea rising in his stomach. His hands were shaking, his legs felt weak. He turned off his mic pack; he couldn’t let the others hear him cry.

 _You know when you feel so strongly about something that regular words just won’t cut it and you have to swear to get the point across?_ He thought.

“Yeah, well this is a fucking mess” he said aloud before rushing to the nearest bin and emptying the contents of his stomach into it. He could hear the crowd’s laughter at some joke someone must have made. He didn’t care that he was missing out. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered any more. Jack had fallen in love with another person and he’d been too blind to notice. He didn’t even notice there was a stranger in the VIP row.

He hoped she would treat him well; if she dared take him for granted and break his heart, she would have Mark to deal with. However something told him that this girl – _was Signe her name?_ \- and Jack weren’t going to be breaking up any time soon…

He felt no resentment towards her; who could resist falling for Jack, after all? His beautiful blue eyes, his endless energy, his amazing Irish accent… Mark couldn’t stop the tears now; he couldn’t let the others see him like this, so he tore off his microphone and stormed past PAX employees and out of the back entrance. He hoped no fans saw him like this.

The hotel where they were staying was not far away, so Mark ran as fast as his unsettled stomach would allow. The last time he had sprinted this quickly was on the morning of Jack’s birthday… _No_ , he chastised himself, _don’t think about it._

Thankfully, the hotel was gloriously empty and Mark could find his way to his room in relative peace, with only a few concerned glances from staff and strangers. He immediately collapsed onto his bed and wept until he had no more tears left to cry. Never had he felt more empty…

* * *

 The rest of the panel went by relatively smoothly, considering they were only left with ‘and friends’ after Mark left. He had been pale and distracted all afternoon, so it didn’t surprise anybody that he was ill. It was just such poor timing; he didn’t even get to do whatever it was he was planning.

Jack didn’t let Mark leaving ruin his mood, though. He was the happiest he had been in a long time, and he couldn’t believe everything had worked out so perfectly. He stopped daydreaming for a moment to look at Signe, who was smiling adorably at a question from someone in the audience; much to Jack’s delight, everyone seemed to take an immediate liking to Signe and wanted to find out as much as possible about her. How he looked forward to waking up to that smile every morning.

A voice in his earpiece told him to start wrapping up the panel. But I’m having so much fun! He thought. He looked at the others and could tell they felt the same way. Alas, all good things must come to an end, and besides, someone needed to check if Mark was okay.

Reluctantly, Jack announced that that was the last question and that they had run out of time for the panel, much to the audience’s dismay.

“But thank you everybody so much for coming” Jack began in his best impression of Mark’s outro, eliciting laughter and cheers from the audience, “and as always, I will see you in the next panel. Buh-bye!” And with that, Jack, Signe, Ethan, Bob, and Wade left the stage, waving at the cheering audience.

There didn’t seem to be any sign of Mark anywhere backstage, aside from a slight smell of vomit, but Jack didn’t let that worry him. _He’s a grown man _, he told himself, _he can take care of himself_. All that mattered now was that he was with Signe, and she felt the same way about him as he did about her. __

_Just imagine if she didn’t feel the same! That would truly be a cruel twist of fate…_

* * *

 Mark was splashing cold water on his face in his hotel room’s en-suite. It was what people did after crying in the movies, right? So why wasn’t it working for Mark? _Right_ , he told himself, _it’s because movies are full of bullshit. There are no happy endings; life is a fucking joke and nothing can change that._

He stepped away from the sink and looked at his pale, haggard face in the mirror. A pair of red, puffy eyes stared back at him, almost unrecognisable as the same joy-filled eyes from earlier that day. Just hours earlier, nothing could have ruined his perpetually joyous mood. Now, it felt he was falling deeper and deeper into a black, bottomless pit of misery.

Was it just the hotel room’s lighting, or had the colour leached out of every surface, leaving everything a melancholy grey? Mark didn’t know, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

 _I can’t even drown my sorrows in drink_ , he joked bitterly, _or I’ll die. Not that that seems like a bad option right now…_

The vibration of his phone in his pocket turned his attention away from that dangerous train of thought. He had been ignoring any messages up until now. What could they do to console him, after all? Now that he had nothing else to do, however, he reluctantly took his phone from his pocket with shaking hands. He hadn’t realised he was shaking.

A whole new wave of pain overcame Mark as he was confronted with his lock screen: a selfie of him and Jack taken when he was in Brighton. How he wished he could go back to that time and re-do things. If he hadn’t fucked up so terribly, maybe he and Jack would have moved in together by this point…

 _There's no point playing “what if”_ , Mark reminded himself. He was stuck in the timeline where everything went the worst it possibly could have, and there was nothing he could do to change that. Nothing.

He had a few missed calls and texts from Bob, Wade, and Ethan, but the name he was desperate to see was nowhere to be found. Clearly Jack was too busy with his new girlfriend to care about Mark. _After all, why should he give a shit about me? I’m just a guy he almost had a fling with. I'm worthless._

After replying to the guys’ inquiries about his health and asking them to pass on his congratulations to Jack, Mark collapsed back onto his bed, exhausted. After what felt like days of contemplation (although it had only been a few hours), the stabbing pain in his chest became less pronounced, but he was far from feeling any better. It was more like he was slowly becoming numb. Numbness, he decided, was even worse than the pain.

He could hear that his phone had gone off a few times in the time he had been laying down, immobile. _Probably just replying to my texts_ , he told himself. He didn’t let himself hope that it might be Jack. Hope, he had learned, could only ever lead to sorrow. Not that he could feel sorrow anymore. Not that he could feel anything anymore.

Mark found himself remembering the night he found Jack’s apartment unoccupied. He remembered wishing he had Jack’s phone number. He remembered the panic as he saw the wobbling silhouette on the bridge, and the relief when he had Jack in his arms.

The ghost of an idea flickered at the back of his mind…

When Mark finally forced himself to move, it was only to check the time on the clock beside his bed. It was almost 7pm. _Not yet_ , he told himself, _it’s still light outside. People might see_. So he pulled out a notepad and pen from his suitcase and began writing...

* * *

Jack and Signe were making their way back to the hotel after watching the sun set over Boston’s seafront. Bob, Wade, and Ethan had tactfully left them alone a while ago after passing on Mark’s congratulations. Mark…

Jack had been too busy enjoying spending time with Signe now that they were officially a couple to bother texting Mark to check if he was okay. After all, he’d replied to the others’ texts saying he was fine so why bother him? He couldn’t help feeling guilty, however, and pulled out his phone to start writing a text:

_Hey, I know you’ve said you’re fine but I just wanted to check in on how you’re doing. You really gave us a fright, running of like that, you know? Oh, and thanks for the congratulations (Signe says thank you too). I hope you feel better soon, and maybe you could let us in on that plan tomorrow, since you never got a chance to do it? See you soon, you goofy goober._

With that weight off his chest, Jack could fully appreciate the moment. He could feel the warmth of Signe’s hand in his. He could see how every strand of her hair was illuminated in a warm golden light from the street lamps. He could feel a love stronger than any he had ever felt growing inside him. He felt weightless.

* * *

It was 4 in the morning and Mark finally felt happy with what he had written. “Happy”, of course, meaning content; Mark doubted he could ever feel happiness- or any emotion- again. He gazed into the total darkness outside of his window. _Now it’s time._

He tore out the pages and left them on his bed, waiting to be found. He managed to drag his heavy limbs into a standing position and placed one foot in front of the other until he was out of the door. He didn’t bring his phone, keys, or wallet. It’s not like he’d need them. He didn’t even think about checking his phone, despite it having gone off once more since he last thought about it. He wouldn’t allow himself to hope. Hope only leads to more pain. Pain was what he was trying to get rid of.

One foot in front of the other… one foot in front of the other… one foot in front of the other…

* * *

 Meanwhile, Jack was asleep in his hotel room, dreaming of the joy his life had ahead of him. He couldn’t wait for tomorrow; with each new day came a new opportunity to spend time with Signe, to grow closer. They say when you’re in love, everything takes on a brighter hue; it’s like looking at the world through a new set of eyes that bring joy into even the smallest things. Jack was no exception; even his dreams seemed brighter and more colourful.

He felt that, after all this time, his life had finally fallen into place. He was complete.


	10. The Irony

The sound of rushing water echoed below the bridge. It was so distant, yet it was all he could hear. The merciful roar acted as a barrier, drowning out his thoughts. The emotions, however– the crippling emotions – still remained. Nothing, not even the loudest roar of the most violent of waterfalls, could ease the pain he felt. Even now, balanced precariously on the edge of death, he felt no fear. Only pain.

The sun would surely be rising soon if he didn’t do it quickly, and dawn would bring cars and people who would try and stop him. He didn’t want to be stopped. His numb legs trembled, maybe from standing for so long, maybe from cold, or maybe even fear. Nonetheless, he didn’t notice.

_Enough stalling. It’s time. It’s time to end everything. I can’t… I don’t need to suffer anymore._

Mark closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. Any tears which should have come had been cried already. His heart was nothing but a broken, black void inside an equally broken man wearing an old, red flannel.

If his mind had not been in such a dark place, he may have joked about wanting some rain -some pathetic fallacy to add to the ambience- but now was not the time for jokes. If his mind had not been in such a dark place, he may have admired the clear sky, the stars clearly visible despite the sun’s rays beginning to peek over the horizon, but now was not the time to revel in his adoration of space.

Here was a man who had lost everything. Here was a man who was tired of living. Here was a man whose last thoughts would be of pain, regret, and sorrow.

There was nobody to stop him when he whispered ever so quietly “I’m sorry, Jack”.

Nobody to stop him as, against every instinct in his body, he shifted his centre of gravity and tipped himself over the edge of the bridge.

Nobody to catch him as he fell head-first towards the lurking rocks.

 

Nobody.


End file.
